Martyrdom
by i'matomato
Summary: Professor Xavier is accidentally sent back in time and discovers a particular historical figure is actually powerful mutant.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I apologize for re-posting this! The uploader ate my scene breaks and my tiny anal retentive heart couldn't stand it. Hopefully this will work better; thank you for your patience.

xxx

Professor Charles Xavier found himself lying face down in the dirt. It was a position he'd been in more than once in his life, but had never developed a taste for.

With a groan, he lifted himself up on his elbows, prying his face from the dirt. The world gave an unpleasant lurch. Headache. Dizziness. Sharp ache in his side. At least his suit seemed to be intact.

As the nausea receded, he risked a look around. He saw an unfamiliar empty landscape of arid dirt, fig trees, and, about fifty yards away on his left, a packed dirt road. There was no sign of his wheel chair. A psychic glance around quickly proved extremely inadvisable, as the power rebounded the second he tried to stretch it out into his surroundings. Psychic backlash was another thing he'd become all too familiar with over the years. It was an unpleasant phenomenon, to say the least. He laid his head back down, wishing he had the strength to erect mental blocks against the pounding pain.

After an indeterminate amount of time lying there, Xavier heard a sound approaching. Footsteps, then a pause. He saw two men out of the corner of his eye stopped on the dirt road, looking inquisitively in his direction. They were wearing rough linen tunics, which was a bit odd. Oh good, they were coming over.

One of them said something in an unknown language and prodded him with a toe shod in a woven straw sandal. He stayed limp, as though unconscious still. The two men talked to each other over him, sounding like they were debating what to do with him. He forced himself not to react at all as they reached down and rolled him over. Better they think him unconscious. With his powers depleted and no way of getting around, he was completely at their mercy for the moment.

Xavier almost recognized the language ... almost ... there. That intonation. They were speaking Aramaic. Xavier was passingly familiar with the ancient language, though not enough to speak or truly understand it. He opened his eyes a slit. The men were wearing rough spun, undyed linen tunics, straw sandals, woven leather belts. One was holding a crude bronze cowbell. And they were speaking ancient Aramaic.

He groaned to himself, but remembered to bite it back in time. He was in the past. He was stranded roughly two thousand years in the past, half a planet away from upstate New York, with no use of his powers and not even his wheelchair to enable him to get around.

This was absolutely the last time he was ever going to volunteer for one of Kurt's teleportation experiments.

xxx

He'd been lucky, remarkably lucky, to have been dumped by the farmers on the doorstep of a hospitable temple of Mithra. True, calling the place primitive would have been a charitable overestimation of their facilities, but they fed him generously of their gruel and onions and coarse bread, and let him sleep on a heap of straw not too far from the fire. Plus, one burly acolyte took it on himself to drag Xavier out onto the temple portico in the mornings, and back inside at night. It afforded him a view of the busy crossroads with its passersby and was at any rate better than staying inside the pungent building all day.

On the second day at the temple, he began to feel his powers slowly return. He recognized the feeling at once-this wasn't the first time he'd been through backlash recovery. Xavier could be patient, when patience was called for. He spent the long, slow day on the porch with his eyes closed, resting and allowing the slow trickle of psychic energy return to him bit by bit. He knew that trying too much, too soon would set him back a full day at the least.

By that evening he judged he was strong enough to attempt a small exertion of his powers. When the acolyte-Roshem-came to fetch him as the sun was getting ready to head behind the low ridge of hills to the west, he nodded amiably at the man. Xavier waited for the right moment, when Roshem grabbed him under the arms and started to pull him toward the door. Physical contact was necessary to conserve power.

At his full strength, Xavier could have simultaneously pulled five languages from the heads of five people who were fifty yards away, and that without Cerebro. At the moment, he completely exhausted himself just getting the basics of Aramaic from Roshem while they were actually touching.

When he woke on his heap of straw, his head was aching again, though not quite as bad as on the first day. He didn't remember getting back to the fire-he must have passed out from the exertion of his powers. A sad state he was in, he reflected to himself as he struggled to sit up in his nest of dirty straw, when even the simplest language transferral could knock him flat.

Judging by the pale light coming in through the cracks around the curtain hanging in the temple doorway, it was nearly dawn. He'd slept the whole night out. The first order of business today would be to talk to the people of the temple and the passersby on the roads. Now that he had the language, he should be able to learn *something* useful. He wasn't content to sit around and wait for his X-men to launch a rescue, though he was sure they would find him eventually. At least, he hoped they would.

There might be no obvious means of returning to his own time, but even in this ancient world-and he was convinced now it was some time in the first century AD, though of course that measure of time had not yet been invented-even in this world, there were centers of power. There were mystics, priests, and wizards who might command enough power to send him home. The ancient magics were strong. And if it took a little psychic coercion to get them to cooperate, Xavier was certainly not beyond that. Not for the sake of getting back to his world, his students, and modern plumbing.

The first pre-dawn stirrings of the temple were beginning. The acolyte Roshem came in to tend the fire, as usual.

"You look like you haven't been sleeping well."

Roshem was startled at being spoken to by "the cripple" after Xavier's days of utter silence. "No, not very well. It pleases the gods to trouble me with bad dreams."

"I've had my fair share of those," he replied honestly.

Roshem's strong-featured face was semi-lit by the banked embers he was stirring into a fire. Xavier could see deep weariness in his face. "Mine have been with me since the war."

"Mine, too." That was true enough. Different war, different millennium. People had changed so little. "Can you tell me where we are?" He asked after a moment.

"This is the crossroads temple." Roshem handed him a bowl full of gruel from the common pot on the hearth. Xavier took it gratefully. "We are only a short way from the river, and half a day's walk from the city."

"The city?" Xavier asked over the rim of his bowl.

"Bethlehem."

xxx

It was well into the afternoon, and Xavier had been resting with his head back, eyes closed, enjoying the brief window when the sun shone at the right angle to fall on his spot directly, warming him. He heard the sound of boisterous laughter approaching on the road. Opening his eyes, he saw a troupe of young men was coming up the road to the temple.

"Ho there, a temple," He heard one of them say, cutting off the chatter of the rest. After a moment of conference, the tall lean man who seemed to be the leader of the group strode toward the temple, with the rest trailing behind.

"Is the priest here, old man?" The leader asked Xavier.

"No, I believe he's gone into the village."

"Well, we'll see who's about." They cheerfully trouped inside. Xavier closed his eyes again and listened, but could only hear a murmur of them having a lengthy conversation with someone within. He wasn't ready to try stretching out his psychic senses again just yet.

"I can see! I can see!"

Xavier whipped his head around, startled, as the old superannuated priest of the temple sprung out of the door and went capering down the path to the road. Xavier had seen the old man before. He would come tottering around the temple occasionally, and was quite blind. His eyes were totally filmed over with cataracts and he could only get around by stumbling along with one hand tracing along the wall.

Apparently that had changed. "I can see again!" He skipped off along the road in the direction of the village, cackling and shouting with joy.

"Old man," the man's head popped out from the doorway. "The acolyte says you're a cripple."

Xavier stared hard at the man. Was he a mutant? It must be. He'd just witnessed some sort of powerful healing ability. "Yes," he replied evenly, "that's quite true."

"Here," he moved toward Xavier, kneeling down next to him. "I will heal you."

"Wait," Xavier moved his hands up to hold him off. "No, thank you."

The man's head cocked at him, looking him earnestly. "Why not? I healed the old priest, you saw. It is a gift of God. Why should you refuse it?"

"Uh," I don't want a strange mutant poking around in my body when my psychic defenses are nil. "My injury was done to me by God. It has made me a better person. Stronger, um, spiritually. I cannot reject the will of God in making me a cripple. I have no wish to."

This the man seemed to accept his explanation. He nodded gravely. "I respect your choice, and I bless your journey." The man stood back. "You are truly a servant of God. We will be staying here tonight, I think, and tomorrow I will preach for all true servants of the Lord. You must attend."

Xavier was intrigued by this strange mutant's powers, and his charisma. "I would be honored. What is your name, friend?"

The man smiled on him. "I am Jesus."

" ... Jesus?"

xxx

Jesus-and that was going to take some getting used to-was well known in these parts, it seemed. A sizable group showed up to hear him preach. Word had spread through the village and surrounding farms and small holds in less than a day, and they came. Easily two hundred people massed by the evening around the temple. Jesus and his friends-his disciples, that is—stood on the temple portico.

For two hours, Jesus spoke, and the crowd was spellbound. His topics ranged from sin, to duty, to the responsibilities of serving God. Xavier had read of his sermons, of course, but no written account could convey was the sparkle of his eyes and the tone of his voice. Every person in the audience felt that he'd been speaking directly to them, asking them to be better, promising them they could. Telling them they were loved. And if they could just show enough faith, enough loyalty, they could have his love for eternity, and that of the Father of whom he spoke with passionate intensity.

It was an inspiring, brilliant piece of oratory. Xavier's abilities had returned enough for him to dimly hear the thoughts and feel the loyalty of the crowd. These people, with only a little nudging from this man, could become a mob, or an army.

Afterward, the people dispersed in little knots, talking to one another, eyes still lit up. A few stayed to talk to Jesus and he spoke to them all with great patience. Finally, as the sun started to go down, the last of the audience left to go back to their homes.

Roshem came to take Xavier back inside. "What did you think of the sermon?" Xavier asked him as he was being dragged backwards inside. The thoughts instantly sprang into Roshem's mind, but Xavier wanted to see what he'd say.

"It was ... very moving. It made me feel more hopeful than I have in many years." The truth, again.

"Since before the war?" Xavier felt for the man.

Roshem only nodded. He made sure Xavier was sitting in his usual spot, then left without saying anything more. His thoughts were preoccupying him, and Xavier was preoccupied with observing them, until Jesus and the disciples came in. The acolytes of the temple eagerly served the group dinner, from the best they had.

"What did you think, friend Xavier?" Bartholomew asked as the meal wound down into quiet talk. Bartholomew had sat with Xavier earlier in the day and talked to him about the surrounding area, and the old legends of magical places. Despite the intriguing opportunity to observe the mutant powers of Jesus, he still needed to focus on getting home.

"I think your friend there," Xavier replied, "Wields a great deal of power."

Jesus looked over and smiled. "Are you afraid of power?" Jesus asked him. All the disciples were looking at Xavier with various degrees of hostility or speculation.

"Yes, I should say so. All sensible people are afraid of power in the wrong hands."

"Do you consider me a threat?" He came over to sit by Xavier. The disciples, at this, pretended to busy themselves with other things. But it didn't take a psychic to feel them listening.

"I have felt the lure of power." Xavier knew it well, and had seen it in many of his students.

"And did you misuse it?" Jesus asked him, with understanding in his eyes.

"Perhaps I did, when I was young." Interesting; he hadn't meant to be that honest. "I hope that time, and circumstances, have taught me better."

"And you fear I may do some portion of the same."

"I haven't decided yet." He paused. "It is a temptation everyone with power must face, all the time."

Jesus looked at him consideringly for a long moment. "Well said, my friend," he replied at last.

"Jesus, you and your friends are going into Bethlehem tomorrow, aren't you?" Jesus nodded. "Would you take me with you? I'm afraid it's not easy for a cripple to travel, and almost impossible alone."

"Do you not have people to come take you home, friend?" Jesus asked.

Xavier sighed. "My people are far away, and I'm afraid I don't even know how to get home from here. I want to speak to learned people of the temple in the city and see if they can help me find the means to journey home."

"Then, you will come. We'll take you gladly."

"Thank you," Xavier said, feeling genuinely grateful. He was intrigued by this charismatic mutant, even without the fact that he was the figurehead of the religion that would eventually take over a third of the globe. And the part of Xavier's mind that was always trying to learn everything possible about mutants and advance their interests—the part that had lead him to form his school in the first place—didn't want to let this opportunity pass.

Jesus clapped a hand on his shoulder and rose. "It might do me good to have one with me who understands the nature of temptation." He turned to face the disciples. "Well, friends, we leave in the morning, we'd better get some sleep!"

Xavier was quiet as he watched them all settle down for the night. His own thoughts kept him awake for a long time.

xxx

As they sat eating together in the morning before setting out down the road, Roshem came in, looking five years younger than he had the day before and with a glow on his normally-stolid face. He went straight up to Jesus, knelt, and bowed his head.

"My lord," he said reverently.

"My child," Jesus greeted him gravely. "Have you something to tell me?"

Roshem looked up at Jesus with a worshipful expression on his face. "Yes, my lord. Last night, before I went to sleep, I prayed to God as you spoke of. And," his voice faltered a bit. "And for the first time in seven years, I slept soundly, untroubled by dreams of the past. How can I thank you, my lord?"

"Give no thanks to me," Jesus smiled on him kindly, sharing in his great joy, but taking no credit for it. "Give your thanks to my Father, as you gave your prayers to him. He is the one who has lifted this burden from you."

Xavier, feeling safe from observation in his dark corner, rolled his eyes. It had actually been he who had stayed awake deep into the night to gently enter Roshem's mind and ease away the memories of horror that had troubled him. The memories weren't gone, but they were softened, blunted. They would no longer cut so deeply into his unconscious mind. It was the only way Xavier had to repay Roshem's kindness, and he would have done it for the man's own sake.

Jesus and Roshem talked on quietly for a few moments. Xavier couldn't help but glance into Roshem's mind as the acolyte left to return to his morning duties. Through his eyes, Jesus was as humble as he was kind, a true leader of men. Roshem thought that if there'd been more officers like him in the army, the war would have gone very differently. He was now, thanks to Xavier's actions, thoroughly convinced that Jesus's god was the One True God. It wouldn't be long before he left the service of Mithras and joined Jesus's followers.

As unintended consequences went, it wasn't the worst that Xavier had ever inflicted on anyone.

They finished their breakfast and Judas came in with an armful of coins and food. They were offerings that the townspeople had left for them on the temple porch. Xavier peeked in Judas's mind very subtly, but found the man's thoughts and attitudes were virtually identical to the other disciples. He had as much loyalty, and no more greed than the rest.

Presently, they were preparing to leave. Jesus gave Xavier a looking-over. "Now, how shall we convey you?"

The two Jameses ended up pulling him along in a rickety cart from the temple. He might, under other circumstances, have used his limited telekinetic ability to lighten their load, but he didn't dare. For one thing, he was still weak as tea, and for another, he wasn't completely sure Jesus wouldn't detect it. It was unsettling to be around such a such a strong mutant with no idea what the limits of their powers were.

Throughout the long walk along the river road into Bethlehem, it was Jesus's turn to listen. He listened almost as well as he talked, encouraging his followers to tell their stories, to talk about the sermon last night, to share their theories and their impressions of people.

At the top of the ridge overlooking Bethlehem, they paused. It was a beautiful sight, and they all cheered up to see the end of the journey so near. Xavier felt his spirits rise. He might be able to get out of this cart soon. As a way to travel, a bronze age cart was a step down from his ergonomically designed wheelchair.

"Well," Xavier said cheerfully. "I've always wanted to come to Bethlehem. And I've heard some say this is your birthplace, Jesus." He knew this was unlikely, but wanted to see what the man would say.

"My what?" He seemed genuinely puzzled. All thirteen were looking at him oddly.

"You were born here, weren't you?"

"No," he shook his head in honest confusion. "I was born in Nazareth."

A moment of silence descended. Then one of them, Xavier couldn't tell all of them apart yet, but he thought it was Phillip, laughed at this. "You've been listening to the stories they tell around these parts, haven't you?"

Peter joined in. "I heard one last week that said Jesus was seven feet tall!"

"And he pisses rose water," another put in. They all laughed, and Xavier couldn't help but join in.

"Yes," Xavier said, "I'm afraid the legends are already obscuring the truth."

Jesus spoke then, more serious. "That is why I must show myself to the people as much as I can, while I am still here. There is not much time left, now." All the disciples' faces fell, though they didn't seem surprised by this pronouncement.

Xavier was worried at the sudden dramatic difference in the man's tone. For a few moments, he seemed like a different person altogether. Though he still wouldn't touch Jesus's mind directly, he could see the marked change in his face. It was radically different for a few moments, not at all like the gentle philosopher Xavier had seen for the past few days.


	2. Chapter 2

Calling Bethlehem a "city" was somewhat of a stretch to Xavier's idea of cities. It had buildings of two stories and a population of several thousand. It was a metropolis compared to the modest farmsteads and minuscule towns they'd passed through along the way, though.

They found chambers in the main temple at Bethlehem. The head priest seemed to know Jesus and the disciples. He greeted them with a sort of fond resignation. "What, you again? Come to stir up more trouble, no doubt."

"Trouble?" Jesus laughed. "When did we stir up trouble here, old man?"

"So, you've forgotten the riot you left on my hands the last time your lot came through." The old priest turned and walked, with his cane, up the steps inside.

Jesus went along, laughing. "You call that a riot? Ha! That was more mass annoyance than mass hysteria." They disappeared inside. The rest of the disciples followed along.

"Well, they're off again." Bartholomew came and sat on the lowest step a few feet from Xavier. "Jesus and that old man have argued since the day they met."

"What do they argue about?"

"Oh, everything and nothing. It's actually a bit of a compliment. He's one of the few of the high-ranking Pharisees that will even talk to him, much less welcome us all into the temple."

"Bartholomew," Phillip called down. "Jesus wants to talk to us. He said to bring Xavier, too."

"Alright, help me get him up." Xavier had not been carried around so much in a very long time.

Jesus decided to spend the rest of the day talking with the priests and performing healings of some supplicants they brought to him, and told the disciples to take care of any business they had. There would be a sermon at noon the following day.

Xavier spent the afternoon talking to an elderly scribe about a vortex in "The Ocean" (which Xavier took to be the Mediterranean Sea) that transported people to other worlds. It sounded like just another fish story to him.

They were given very good hospitality by the temple. For the first time since he'd arrived in this benighted era, Xavier slept on a mattress. It was only canvass stuffed with rushes, but still much more comfortable than fetid piles of straw. And tomorrow, after the sermon, he'd spend some more time interrogating the priests and scribes about the legends of the area. He supposed Jesus and his band would be moving on tomorrow or in a few days. It was a shame Xavier wouldn't get to spend more time with them.

xxx

"Well, that could have gone better." Peter had been in a bad mood all the way from Bethlehem.

"It's not the first time we've been chased away from a temple," one of the Jameses tried to lighten the tension that had held them all more or less silent for the last several hours.

"What's done is done. If they will not open their eyes, I cannot help them. They must open their hearts to my Father, or they sill never find wisdom."

"You could have avoided calling the Pharisees stuck-up tightasses. Don't we have enough problems without you picking fights?" Xavier was close enough to hear Peter mutter. The Pharisees had kicked him out when they'd all been chased away, and Bartholomew had made sure Xavier was loaded in the card and taken along after the priests had threatened to turn him out into the streets. Just being a traveling companion of Jesus was enough to earn their enmity it seemed.

Jesus pretended not to hear Peter's complaint, or any of the other mutterings. "We're half-way to Jerusalem already, and it's a full moon tonight, I say we press on-I know a house that will let us in when we get there." No one said anything, although Xavier could sense Peter's furious thoughts & the irritation of many of the others.

"Do we have any food left?" John asked a little plaintively. John was the youngest and reminded Xavier fondly of some of his young students. Jesus ordinarily had a soft spot for John as well—he was clearly a favorite, and Xavier wondered if the two were lovers. But at the moment Jesus ignored him, too.

"No, we ate it all," Judas told him.

"Look, fig trees." Jesus exclaimed, pointing toward the side of the road to a small grove of trees.

"Good, I'm famished," John exclaimed, running over. "Be damned! No figs. I wonder if someone picked them already."

"No figs," gasped Jesus as they all approached close enough to see for themselves. "No figs!" They all turned to look at him at his tone. No one said anything. He was glaring at the fig trees. "How dare they defy me!"

"Defy you? The … trees?" John asked in an uneasy tone.

The disciples looked at each other furtively. Xavier kept his eyes on Jesus and gently, cautiously extended his awareness to read him. He sensed a darkness in the man's mind. But more troubling, he felt a surge of gathering power.

Jesus reached out and laid his hands on the fig tree. Xavier could feel the power surge from his hands into the trunk of the tree, to the tips of the branches and down through the roots. The power roiled out to engulf every tree in the grove with it's strange, sickly energy.

"May you never bear fruit again!" Jesus shouted. The disciples jumped and looked in time to see, as Xavier did, that the leaves of the fig trees shrunk, withered, and fell off in matter of moments. The bark of the trees dried and cracked and started to peel away.

John looked particularly frightened. "Jesus, what did-" One of the others clapped a hand over his mouth.

Jesus stalked off down the road without a glance back at any of them. "You see?" He called out, either to them or to the sky. "If you have faith and do not doubt, you can say to the mountain 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and it will be done."

The disciples, confused & deeply worried, trailed after him, tugging Xavier's cart along. 

xxx

They made it to Jerusalem without further incident and had a good night's sleep in the house of Jesus's friend. The friend was a fat, rich merchant who liked the thrill of associating with a rebellious wandering preacher. Xavier didn't care for the man's mind, but he appreciated his hospitality. Jesus seemed fine the next day, back to his old self. None of the disciples brought up the fig tree incident, and so Xavier didn't either.

The next day, the merchant laid out a sumptuous meal to welcome them. Mid-way through dinner, a woman approached the banquet table where they were eating. "I have a gift for you," The woman told Jesus softly, coming to stand next to him. The chattering of the others fell silent as she clutched a clay jar to her chest and peered at Jesus with wide eyes. Xavier recognized her as one of the retainers attached to the household. By the attitudes of the disciples, it was commonplace for people to approach Jesus with gifts. This one had a particularly fanatical mind, though Xavier noted.

"Yes, my child?" Jesus said.

She peeled off some sort of seal from around the top of the jar and prised off the lid, filling the room with a potent sweet smell, even over the scents of the rich food. "This oil is for you." Without a further word, she reached up and tipped the jar over Jesus's head. The oil poured over him in rivulets, soaking his hair, face, and robes.

The disciples exclaimed in shock. "What did you do that for, crazy woman?" shouted John, jumping up to grab the woman's arm. The other disciples looked ready to eject the woman from the hall.

"Stop, stop. Do not berate her, friends!" Jesus wiped the oil from his face with a cloth, looking calm. "Why have you done this, my child?"

The woman answered with an avid gleam in her eyes. "My husband and I took all of the savings and we spent it on that oil. The finest money can buy in the city. It is our gift to you, to anoint the son of God."

"If you truly wanted to serve the 'son of God,'" Peter told her sneeringly, "you could have sold that oil and given the money to the poor, instead of wasting it on this foolishness."

"No, Peter, her actions show wisdom. The poor will will always be with you, but you will not always have me with you." Jesus didn't seem to notice the disciples reaction to this statement. "Her action is fitting." Jesus gave the woman a slightly oily kiss on the forehead and sent her away.

After dinner, Xavier caught Jesus alone for a few minutes. "Do you really believe what you said to that woman at dinner?" The light from the oil lamp flickered over Jesus's face as he tilted his head and regarded Xavier. "Are you about to die?"

"It is my destiny to die at the will of my Father."

"You mean God?"

"Yes."

"How do you know it is?"

"I have heard his voice," Jesus said simply, as if this explained everything. "Ever since I was a child, he has guided me."

"You hear a voice in your head telling you to die?" Xavier carefully kept any hint of judgment out of his tone.

Jesus smiled on him. "You are not of our faith, my friend, I cannot be surprised if you don't understand."

"I believe in human potential. And that belief tells me that life is precious, and a wasted death cannot be a good thing." He could have said more—about zealotry and martyrdom, and the high cost of holding unchallengeable beliefs.

"It will not be a waste." Jesus's eyes flashed with that anger Xavier had seen a few times now. His expression twisted and he snapped, "I have been chosen! It is why I have told my friends to leave their families and come Witness my acts. They must love me best, above even their own children. I will be taken from this earth soon, to a higher purpose. Do not importune me with these concerns!" Jesus stalked off, leaving Xavier alone by the hearth.

Xavier went to bed that night with a heavy heart.

xxx

Traveling with Jesus meant you got used to things like getting into places. Xavier still hadn't decided if Jesus had any low-level physic power tied in with his healing abilities. But psychic or no, he got his way a great deal oftener than most people.

Jesus somehow got them into a private pleasure garden in what Bartholomew said was the old town of Gethsemane, not far from the city center of Jerusalem. He'd had a brief whispered conversation with the dour gate guards, then slipped inside, leaving the rest of them to trail cautiously behind into the twilight-lit trees.

The day had not been a good one—they'd gotten word that the Roman governor was taking action against Jesus. Xavier noticed that Bartholomew had passed most of the day in silence, even when they'd heard from a friend at the temple that soldiers were coming for Jesus in the morning. Bartholomew had made no protest as Jesus refused the urging of the others to flee, and had simply led them to Gethsemane to pass the night.

Now, in the dim moonlight, Bartholomew and James set Xavier down next to a patch of melon vines. James wandered off to stand with the rest in a knot under some yew trees who were whispering together near where Jesus was pensively staring at the sky. But Bartholomew sat down next to Xavier and began fiddling with the vines.

"What can be done, Xavier?" Bartholomew asked him softly. "What can we do for him?"

"He refuses to run away."

"Yes. He knows the soldiers will come for him at dawn, but he does not care. Or else he wants it." Bartholomew sounded like he might cry. Xavier found the proximity to the man's mental anguish painful.

"You have long known this was coming." He didn't bother to phrase it as a question.

"We all have," Bartholomew replied.

It was true. Every one of the disciples had been growing more and more afraid since they came to Jerusalem. Xavier had felt the rising tide of their fear. They all loved Jesus, and could see him sinking into madness. They had long known he was somewhat unstable, but up until recently, they had not doubted that it was divine madness. Now, however, as he had become increasingly angry and erratic, they did not know what to think.

The previous night had been the Passover Seder, and they had all gathered together to observe. Xavier had been surprised at how different it was from the Passover he'd attended in his time. But at least it had given him a chance to use his rusty Hebrew language skills—learned from actual study in years past, not from psychic transference.

After the end of prayer and reflection, the wine had flowed and they'd all eaten with gusto, trading stories of the road and of Jerusalem. Bartholomew had sat by Xavier and told him stories of his youth. The two Jameses had been laughing at Phillip over some girl Phillip was in love with. And John had leaned against Jesus, perfectly at ease. Whatever was going on between them, usually Jesus was careful of playing favorites among his band and didn't show John any unusual preference in public. That night though, he hadn't seemed to mind.

All had been going well when, suddenly, knocking aside John and spilling a wine cup, Jesus had shot to his feet, a distant look in his eyes, and demanded their silence. Jesus had slowly looked around at them, piercing each with his gaze, staring intently as if judging them. Not Xavier, though, just the disciples had received that searching look. Jesus hadn't even seemed to notice Xavier was there.

"It will not be long now," Jesus had told them. "I can feel my Father calling me, summoning me to his side. It will not be long before I am taken from you."

Several of the others had exclaimed in horror at this. "No Jesus, don't." John had said, pained. "Don't say that."

"I shall soon be dead." Jesus had intoned, turning his gaze back to John. "And you, friend. You shall deny me."

"I? Never!" The young man had looked stricken at this.

"You shall deny me three times, but all shall be forgiven. Even the one among you who shall betray me."

"Betray you? No!"

"You don't mean that, Jesus."

"We wouldn't!"

A dozen voices had protested angrily at once.

"Jesus," Bartholomew had called in a scolding voice loud enough to cut through the babbling of the others. "Jesus, if you fear for your life, let us leave this place. It's the priests who want to see you dead. They may indeed act against you. But if that is the case, let us leave!" Poor Bartholomew, Xavier had seen he had little hope left for the sanity and life of his friend.

"Do not even think it, Bartholomew," Jesus had solemnly replied. "It is my Father's will that has brought us to this place, and to this extremity."

"It is not!" the other had snapped, exasperated. "It is only your pride that will not allow us to leave."

Jesus had continued to regard him steadily, and Bartholomew had begun to look a little ashamed. "Come here," he had told him, and Bartholomew had gone. Jesus had embraced him and told him, just loud enough to be heard by all, "You speak out of your love for me, but also out of fear. You must trust. You must listen to me, for I speak the word of God. All will be well. It is in my Father's hands."

Xavier had been at an angle to see Bartholomew's face crumple at these words. He had clung to Jesus for some moments longer, as though he might disappear if he let go. 

The next day, the word had come of Jesus's impending arrest.

Xavier sat with him in the garden at Gethsemane now, knowing there was nothing he could say to reassure the man. Bartholomew had tried to save his friend, and he had failed.

xxx

"Can you not even do this with me?"

Xavier started awake at the voice. He must have nodded off, resting sideways on a large stone at the corner of the melon patch. He stirred and looked around. Jesus was standing, glowering at his disciples.

After scolding his sheepish disciples for dozing off on this bizarre suicide watch, Jesus strode away again and lay on the ground, stared lamenting softly to himself and beating his head on the soil. The disciples, frightened to interfere, but frightened to leave him alone, hovered nearby.

It was about three or four in the morning, Xavier judged. In a little while, it would be dawn. The soldiers would come, and Jesus would be seized and killed. If he was going to speak, it had to be now. Xavier had faced the minds of distraught mutants with powers strong enough to kill. The key was to stay calm & show no fear.

"Jesus," he called firmly. Jesus stopped beating his head and sat up to look at him. "Jesus, come here." He used his best authoritative voice, which he'd honed on years of teenage mutants.

Jesus came, motioning for his disciples to stay where they were, and sat down next to Xavier. Jesus sat in silence for a few moments while Xavier settled in psychically to keep a careful eye on the man's mind.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"It is my destiny." The conviction in Jesus's voice shone through with that same quality that made so many drop everything in their lives to follow him. But Xavier's subtle psychic reading told him of the swirl of doubts beneath the exterior.

"What if it didn't have to be?"

"Xavier, you are trying to help, but I know what my Father intends."

"Jesus, listen to me ... are you listening?"

"I hear you, friend." His face was strained and smeared with dirt from pressing it into the ground. He looked younger than his years.

"What if you could live, and heal many more people? Your father gave you this miraculous gift. What if his real purpose was for you to live, so you could use it?" It wasn't the most elegant recruitment speech Xavier had ever given, but perhaps even he quailed a tiny bit in the face of trying to recruit Jesus. Xavier wondered when exactly this had turned into another recruiting mission. But at some point he'd stopped merely observing Jesus's mutant powers, and had started planning on convincing him to come back with him.

"What are you trying to say?" Jesus asked.

"I will find a way to get back home sooner or later. What if I were to take you with me?"

Jesus laughed unhappily. "One place is much like another. I have gone far on my travels, and found no place yet that holds peace for me. That is why I must go to my Father's kingdom. Across the whole scape of the world, I have found nothing for me here."

Twenty years of teaching teenagers allowed Xavier to keep from smiling at this. "You have traveled for many years, but you have not gone more than a hundred miles from the city where you were born. The world is much larger than that. My home *is* different. It is not just a different place, but a different world. There are physicians there who can take away dark dreams, and help you find peace."

Jesus, on the other hand, didn't bother holding back his derisive smile. "I have heard many claims from many physicians. Very few of them have proved true."

"Look at me. You can see into the souls of men." A little flattery never hurt. And besides, it might even be true. "Am I lying?" Jesus opened his eyes and looked at him full-on. "My people can heal you."

Jesus said nothing. A sharp rustling came from the other side of the clearing. Xavier saw the disciples, standing in a knot under a large tree, murmuring to each other. As he looked up, they looked away. He returned his attention to Jesus, who was still gazing at him. After a moment, Xavier went on. "If you came with me, we could heal you, and then you could go on to heal others, doing your father's work. Come live in my house, with my students. Everyone there is gifted, many in ways not unlike you. We all understand the burdens of being set apart from our fellow-man. We know the burden and the temptations of power. You will be happy among us."

At least, Jesus answered him. "All my life, I have struggled with this power. I felt it was a gift, and a test, from my Father."

"I cannot say why such powers came to you." The odds of the x-gene arising active at this point in history are too small to calculate. "But I can see how they have shaped your life. Since you were young, everyone has either been frightened of you, or else worshiped you."

"It has grown ... wearisome. If this is a test, perhaps I am not meant to succeed."

"Or perhaps the test is merely different from what you thought."

The first light of dawn was starting to lighten the clearing. Xavier looked at the bedraggled, exhausted man in front of him. Was he getting through?

Jesus looked down at his hands, weaving his fingers in and out and picking at his thumbnail. Presently, he looked up. Xavier felt a chill go through him at the fear naked on the man's face.

"I do not want to die," He said, low, as though he were ashamed. "The will take me and torture me and my Father tells me it must be so. But I am afraid."

Xavier opened his mouth to answer, but an angry shout made them both turn their heads toward the garden gate and the disciples. "The soldiers!" One of the disciples called out. Before Xavier could say anything, Jesus was up and across the clearing going to stand in between his unarmed disciples and a handful of armored soldiers with spears.

xxx

Tonight would be the last night in the merchant's house, Xavier supposed. The day had gone pretty much as Xavier had expected. Jesus had been publicly whipped and condemned, John had indeed denied him. Judas had been nowhere to be seen today, and Xavier had a feeling that part of Jesus's predictions had come true as well.

Xavier, having an crucifixion to attend the following morning, was sleeping uneasily, but taking what rest he could.

"Professor!" A voice whispered sharply, in English. He knew that voice.

"Kurt!" Xavier sat up in bed, staring into the dimly-lit room.

"At last, I've found you. We were so worried about you, Professor!" Kurt came to his bedside and grabbed his hand, squeezing it with relief.

"Kurt, thank goodness!" Xavier exclaimed. "How did you get here?"

"Well, it'll take a bit of telling, sir, but more importantly, I've got a way of getting us back." He held up a strange pendant that looked like some sort of cobbled-together clockwork computer. "Forge built it. Don't ask me how it works!"

"That boy is certainly useful to have around. Later, you'll have to tell me how long I've been gone, and we'll have a word about these experiments that dropped me here. For right now, I don't want anyone coming in to find you here." Kurt had enough trouble with angry mobs in the twenty-first century. He knew what would happen if the people of bronze-age Jerusalem caught sight of his blue-skin and tail. Xavier didn't want to have to stage a hasty escape.

"Right, Professor, let's get you back home." Kurt sat down and Xavier felt the man's hands grip his arms.

"Wait!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Kurt, I can't leave just yet." Xavier couldn't leave as things were. "Can you stay around until tomorrow, at least? I need a little more time."

"Well, yes, I suppose. The beacon's batteries will last at least that long—Forge promised this thing has a battery life better than 300 hours. You know how he is about battery life. But why? Don't you want to get out of here?"

Xavier rubbed his head tiredly. Where to start explaining? "I've fallen in among a very ... interesting group of people here, Kurt. I believe I may have found a very powerful mutant living in this era."

"A mutant? In 32 AD?" Kurt asked, incredulous. He'd studied this history of the x-gene almost as much as Xavier, he knew how rare it had been even a few hundred years ago, never mind a few thousand.

"I know, it's astonishing. And more than that ..." Xavier trailed off. Kurt was a devout Christian. "Well, it's actually ... Jesus. The Jesus."

He could just see well enough in the dim light to see Kurt's jaw fall open as he stared at him. "Jesus," he squeaked.

Xavier sighed. "Aside from the question of his mutant powers, the man is suffering from some sort of mental disorder. It's like there's two of him-one a kind religious teacher and philosopher, and the other a monomaniacal lunatic with herbicidal tendencies. And now he's in terrible danger. I don't know if there's anything to be done, but I can't just leave."

Kurt's mouth caught up to his brain all at once. "You're saying Jesus is a mutant? And *mentally ill*? You've met Jesus? As in Jesus Christ. I can't believe this, Professor, are you sure it's the right Jesus-"

"It's a lot to take in," Xavier cut him off. With a quick psychic look around to make sure everyone in the household was asleep, he sighed and said, "Let me start at the beginning ..."


	3. Chapter 3

"Father forgive them, for they know not what they do," Jesus rasped out as the cross was raised and his body fell forward to hang gruesomely. The men on the other two crosses were screaming and whimpering in pain. The soldiers only laughed harder.

Xavier, the disciples, the two Marys, and a few other friends of Jesus had gathered to watch the execution. They had walked alongside as Jesus had carried the cross slowly up the hill to Golgotha. The soldiers had kept any of them from getting close—all they'd been able to do was watch as Jesus and two criminals were nailed down to be executed.

A small crowd of people were there, most to see the "King of Jews" brought low and to mock him.

One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at Jesus. "Aren't you the messiah? Use your magic powers! Save yourself and us!"

But the other criminal rebuked him. "Shut up, fool," he panted through his pain, "We did what we're being punished for, right enough. But this man has done nothing wrong." Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."

"Today you will be with me in paradise," Jesus replied. One of the disciples, standing in the little huddle near Xavier, began weeping.

Jesus looked at them standing there. Xavier thought Jesus looked as if he wished he could give them some words of comfort. All he did, though, was nod to John, who was standing close to Mary. Mary, was standing there stone-faced as she watched her son be crucified. She was comforting John, who looked as though he was suffering every pain of the man being executed.

Jesus looked between the two of them. "Behold your son; behold your mother," he told them. John nodded seriously and put his arm around Mary. Xavier felt their mutual devotion. Mary would need protection, and John would die rather than let down Jesus in his last request.

Xavier knew the time to act was coming. Kurt had been hiding in the hills since last night, and a few minutes ago, he'd called him down to come to a sheltered hiding spot nearby, within sight-line of the execution hill. He reached out and spoke directly to his mind. "Kurt? I have a plan—I think I figured out the best way to save him." The words were silent as their thoughts flitted back and forth to each other. 

"Professor?" Kurt's mental voice sounded bewildered. "What do you mean 'save him?'"

"Kurt, you're going to have to teleport him out to get him off that thing. I'll put a mental block on everyone so they won't see it happening, but you're going-"

Kurt's thoughts interrupted him. "Get him down? Professor, we can't! You're not suggesting we actually prevent the crucifixion of Jesus?"

"What? Kurt, of course. He'll die in only a few hours like this." 

"I know. Professor, think about what you're saying. We can't stop the *crucifixion*. It's … it's the whole point. It's Jesus's purpose on Earth. It's the single defining event of human existence! If we stopped it, there would be no Salvation."

Xavier was taken aback. He knew Kurt had faith, but this was asking him to sit and watch the suffering and death of an innocent man.

"Professor," Kurt went on urgently in his thoughts, "Professor, you can't, really. Even if you don't believe in that, think of history. How much would we change by preventing the formation of the Christian church? Think of how radically different the world would be. We might not even have a home to go to."

With a sigh, both actual and mental, Xavier admitted the logic of this. "That's quite true. We might do untold damage to the continuity of history if we interfered now." Xavier looked around at the dusty hilltop. So strange to think that this obscure place, filled with people who were just ordinary humans, could be such a tipping point. "It's not going to be an easy thing to watch, though," he added to Kurt.

"That is our burden, Professor," Kurt told him seriously. "If he can bear to suffer it, we can bear to watch it."

The day wore on into a long afternoon. Most of the on-lookers drifted away. Those who had come for the spectacle of death found less pleasure as the sufferers grew too weak to be amusing. The disciples stayed, except Judas, of course, who was still conspicuously missing. Xavier could sense only weariness and muted pain in most of them. Though in John, the pain was sharp-edged and ragged—grief always wore heaviest on the young. Peter and Bartholomew were the clear thinkers of the group, as usual. Peter was putting his practical mind to good use, calculating the best way to get the disciples out of the city, and where they would go, and how to re-establish the network of contacts that had centered on Jesus during his lifetime. Bartholomew was struggling against his own pain, and doing what he could to comfort the others.

The minutes passed at a crawl. There was almost total silence, broken only by the occasional whisper between themselves. Some time near in mid-afternoon, they were startled by a groan from the cross and they heard Jesus say, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

At once, the disciples began to call out that he wasn't forsaken. As if to cut off their reassurances, Jesus gave a sharp shake of his head and said, "I thirst." Xavier thought Jesus looked like he wanted to say more, but didn't have the strength.

A jar of wine vinegar was there, so Phillip soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of hyssop, and lifted it for Jesus to drink from. The disciples glared at the guards, daring them to interfere. The guards wisely pretended not to see. When he had received the drink, Jesus said, "It is finished." He bowed his head.

Mary clutched at John, trembling. None of them knew what to say to one another, and none could find a word to speak to Jesus.

"Kurt, this man is dying. What good will it do? When can it ever be right to stand by and watch a friend die?" Xavier told him, pained by the scene in front of him and struck with indecision. Jesus's wounds were swollen and leaking pus; his breathing was labored through spittle-flecked lips. The man was hanging on by a thread. The moment of crisis was almost upon them.

From some inner reserve of strength, Jesus called out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!"

xxx

"Professor?"

"Yes, yes." Xavier was leaning slumped against the wall of the tiny cave. Kurt had teleported them in almost as soon as the door was shut. Luckily, it was the Sabbath and Jesus's people wouldn't be coming for the supposed corpse today, as they couldn't do the work of preparing it for burial during the holy day of rest. Trying to fool embalmers would have been tough.

Xavier considered being angry with Kurt, but he didn't have the energy. Unable to bear it at last, he had teleported up, grabbed Jesus, and whisked him away in front of the crowd. Ultimately, he hadn't been able to stand to watch the suffering in front of them-the slow horrible execution of a beloved figure. It had been up to Xavier to grab hold of all those minds in an instant and construct a convincing illusion in their minds of Jesus's death. Such work, implanting complex, fraught memories into multiple minds simultaneously, was exhausting. It almost hadn't worked, but he'd just eked it out. Xavier's reserves of energy were almost depleted and left him no strength to scold Kurt for doing what Xavier had been wishing all along they could do.

All he said was, "How's the patient?"

"Not good," he replied fretfully. "Professor, he's so dehydrated. And those wounds are infected. What can we do?"

"I don't know, Kurt. I'm no healer."

"No, but he is!" Kurt said excitedly. Without even waiting for a reply, he levered Xavier up off the floor and pushed him over to sit on the ledge next to Jesus's head. "Make him heal himself."

Xavier sighed. He'd done this before, hadn't he? Controlled someone else's powers through their mind? A life was at stake; this was no time for qualms. "Alright. Go and fetch some supplies, he'll need water and food, and so will we. This will take a while." Kurt, satisfied that Xavier was at work, obediently teleported out, leaving them alone in the tiny dank cave with only a small flickering lamp for light.

Xavier put his hands on either side of Jesus's face, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

The process of using someone else's powers through their mind was always slow and difficult. Not to mention, the error rate was higher. It was like directing a marionette to do surgery, Xavier reflected.

Jesus floated in a sort of half-consciousness while Xavier focused intensely on purging the infection, setting his broken bones, and beginning to stitch together torn flesh. Xavier managed to block Jesus's pain receptors, for which they both had reason to be grateful, since everything happening to Jesus's body, Xavier felt through the link. Kurt attended them, going in and out to bring water, food, oil for the lamp, and whatever else Xavier requested.

By the time it was getting on toward morning, they were all exhausted. The healing was not as thorough as he'd like it to be, but Xavier was drained. Jesus was in a natural sleep at last. Kurt was wrung out from the energy he'd expended teleporting all over. Despite the cramped and rough accommodations, they all managed to sleep.

xxx

Jesus woke up in the morning, lucid and mostly healed. Xavier woke Kurt from his light doze as he saw their patient gingerly sitting up.

"My lord, are you all right? I apologize for our interference. We could not bear to watch you suffer when we could stop it and …" Kurt trailed off at Jesus's utterly blank look.

"He doesn't speak the language of these parts," Xavier told Jesus in his borrowed Aramaic. Of course, Kurt had spoken in English, a language which didn't even exist yet. "He's a friend, and quite harmless, despite his fearsome appearance."

"I see. Greetings," Jesus said, directly to Kurt, though he obviously didn't understand. Kurt looked like he might faint. "Friend Xavier, I have no idea what is going on but I believe I am … still alive."

"I believe you are," Xavier told him with weary amusement. Jesus looked down at his limbs, taking in the healing wounds, where only a few hours ago they'd been freely bleeding. He stretched as if to test his strength.

"How strange it is to find oneself on Earth when one expected to wake up in Heaven," he said. Jesus cocked his head and looked into Xavier's eyes. "This is your doing."

Xavier nodded. "I do not know if I was wrong or right to interfere, Jesus. In the end, though, I could not stand by and watch a good man die while I could stop it. I only hope you don't regret having a second chance at life."

Jesus was silent and looked away. Xavier cleared his throat and told him, "I saved you so you could come with us as we spoke of in the garden. But, if you choose to stay behind, I will help you start a new life here."

"What life is there for me? My purpose is over."

"Jesus, you know we come not just from a far away place. We come also from a—a different time. In the time we come from, it has been many years since all this happened and the story of your 'death' has spread across the face of the world. People still speak your name. Some use it for inspiration, some to justify evil, I'm sorry to say.

"But it's a world that your ideas, your passion, helped create. I would like very much to show it to you."

There was a long silence. Xavier was sure he was about to get a final, flat denial. "What of my disciples?"

"They think you're dead. They saw you die."

"It was my duty to die for them, according to my Father's will. And that I have fulfilled, I think. But it is no part of my duty to abandon them."

xxx

Jesus insisted on getting out of the tomb. Xavier couldn't blame him. Together Kurt and Jesus moved the heavy stone away from the entrance. Kurt still looked round-eyed and nervous at the company he was keeping.

"I must walk. I need to get away from this sepulcher for a time—I will return." Xavier, seeing that he needed time to think, didn't press Jesus to stay. He and Kurt stayed behind.

Kurt's state was turbulent. He gave voice to one of his worries as soon as Jesus was out of earshot. "I am worried about one thing, Professor. Shouldn't he be, well, dead right now? I mean, I know it was my action that saved him, my choice. I don't regret it. But how can he come back to life if he didn't die in the first place?"

"It's a bit late now to worry about the theological implications, isn't it Kurt?"

"But what if there is no redemption now? We've changed history, and what if now, through the next two thousand years, man is not cleansed of his sins?"

How could you tell? Xavier thought privately, thinking of millennia of bloody human history. Aloud, he said nothing.

They heard a sudden cry outside the tomb. It was Mary Magdalene, Xavier recognized her mind and could sense her panic at finding the tomb had apparently been robbed.

Mary ran off, and within a few minutes, was back with Peter and John at her heels. Xavier hid himself and Kurt, blanking their presence to any surrounding minds. Kurt stayed silent crouched beside him.

John reached the tomb first. He stooped to look in, but thanks to Xavier's shielding, he saw only some strips of linen and empty jars. Then Simon came, following him, and went into the tomb. As soon as they had both seen the empty tomb, Peter and John set off to try and find who had stolen Jesus's body. But Mary stayed weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb, too.

Xavier could sense Jesus returning toward the cave, so when Mary looked inside again, as if vainly searching for any trace of the body, he allowed her to see them, at last, in some form that made sense to her. To her mind, she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet.

"Why are you crying?" He asked her, projecting the image of an angel to lend credence to the "miracle" she was about to witness.

She told the "angels," "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him."

Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing next to the cave. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?"

She said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Xavier realized his shielding was confusing her mind so that she didn't recognize the man. He modulated it so he and Kurt were invisible again, but she could see Jesus clearly.

Jesus said to her, "Mary."

"Jesus!" She sobbed and grabbed him in a hug hard enough to knock him back a few steps.

Jesus said to her, "Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go to the others and say to them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'" Jesus sent Mary off to gather the other disciples.

"You're 'ascending?'" Xavier asked him. "Does that mean you're coming with us?" Jesus gave him an enigmatic look.

All the disciples came with Mary. Xavier sensed deep skepticism in them. But as soon as they approached Jesus and saw him, all of them were overtaken by awe and a little fear. They fell to their knees and bowed their heads, Peter first, then each of the others. Mary's face was shining with joy.

Jesus bid them to rise and led them a little way up a nearby hill, out of sight and earshot of the cave. Xavier listened in through Bartholomew's mind.

"My friends," Jesus began. "Your friendship, and your faithfulness over the past years have been the greatest gift I could have received. I told you many times that you would not have me with you much longer, and that I would be taken from you. Now it is that time."

"Jesus-" one of them began.

"Peace," Jesus told them, holding up a hand. "The time has come for me to go to another realm. I will carry on as a servant of my Father. And you must carry on as well, to spread the Word to all the faithful and carry the message of peace in your heart always." A few of them began weeping.

"Now, my friends." Jesus sounded a bit hoarse himself. "Come, and say goodbye to me." In an instant, he was mobbed by eleven men and Mary, who were all exclaiming, embracing him, and kissing his cheeks. Even Xavier found himself affected by the emotion of the moment. These people truly loved their leader.

After a few minutes of noisy goodbyes, Jesus pulled back from them. John held him to the last, until Jesus gently put him off with one last fond caress of his cheek. "Do not forget me, friends. Carry my love with you in your hearts always."

At Xavier's signal, Kurt teleported in directly behind Jesus, put his hand on the man's back, and immediately transported out again. It took less than half a second, and in the confusion, it appeared to the disciples that he had simply vanished in a cloud of smoke. They cried out in wonder and seemed rooted to the spot, but Xavier had no more time to observe them, for an instant later, Kurt came back and teleported him as well

In a puff, Xavier appeared in a deserted area on the outskirts of the city where no one would see them come or go.

"I am glad you're coming with us, my friend," He told Jesus. Xavier wondered how the other X-men would react to him bringing Jesus home as the newest member of the team.

Jesus, looking sanguine despite the teleportation he'd just experienced, gave Xavier an unexpectedly happy smile. "Now we'll see if all those claims you made about your country were really true!"

Xavier laughed. "Kurt, whenever you're ready, take us home."

xxx

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Yes, as you noticed, I played fast and loose with the theology and biblical history. But more of this comes straight from the bible than you would believe. And the gospels are basically fanfiction anyway.

Thank you to my great beta, J. G. Grayson. You asked for more cowbell.


End file.
